Bookends Themes
by Imaginarivalued
Summary: The stories don't end at the last page of the book.
1. aftertaste of heaven

The first time they would have inexplicably touched lips, it was in a cave, a cave with a superbly romantic back story, but a dark, damp cave nonetheless.

However, all rational and lingering thoughts of lurking beasts and shady cavern corners (and the safety of her own brother, she sheepishly reflected) had fled her mind as she found herself fixated upon the pair of shadow-misted grey eyes that managed synchronized glistening with the torch's flare, and all she could do was allow her emotions the reign and gravitated toward his equally transfixed gaze.

Then the surreal glow of love manifested within the crystals left in ages past whirled her mind back to the forefront and that was that.

But as they were once again basked under the wonderful sunlight she couldn't suppress the heat spreading across her cheeks and _wonder…_

_(his breath warm like the summer breeze…)_

The first time the kiss became real was above a submarine, surrounded by their respective elements in endless amalgamation. He had kissed her, whilst her mind and heart had been unprepared, and before she could feel more than just his lips, he had taken to the sky with eyes should've been reserved for a man rather than the boy he was.

She swam in wonder before Sokka snapped her out of her thoughts and back into the grim face of reality and she became engrossed in his safety above all else.

_(the salty taste of the ocean…)_

The second kiss was a sour memory that bore harsh, untrue words and desperate bewilderment that came at her like the element of the nation they fought against and she had reacted as if she was accosted by a foe with flames, and she unwittingly strung the threads of lies and regret that she wished so dearly to ravel back.

_(only the bitterness of her own heart…)_

She had waited for this precise moment, her overflowing joy pressuring her heart, for their eyes to meet in mutual adoration and blushes dancing across her cheeks, to finally be the one to kiss _him_.

As their lips embraced each other, the wonder from her mind reverberated with her heart and time unveiled a deeper, more sensual kiss for the sole purpose of getting closer and to _taste_…

Aang didn't taste much like anything, Katara realized in brief curiosity.

In her painted memories of the times they had locked lips and from the accounts of other girls and women and romantic narrations of grand love tales, she expected a unique flavor to which she could associate with the boy in her arms.

Perhaps strawberries, cream, or moon peaches, as some poets have described. Or, if she were to be unabashedly clichéd, taste like the wind.

Taste like the wind? A silly paradigm in and of itself.

Aang didn't taste much like anything, and she suspected she was the same. The kiss was warm and wet, and upon deeper inhalation, hinted of Jasmine tea. Nothing unique. Nothing surprising.

It would be one of Katara's fondest memories.

Besides, if Aang did taste of something, she was sure she'd eventually find out.

_(beyond thousands more to come…)_


	2. flying to land

She's in earth green and he's in air goldenrod as they step through the budding signs of spring in a pace all of their own. He sees the small hills and picks up the scent of dewdrops and feels something strikingly familiar and frighteningly new and thinks back to the first time he took off on his glider from atop of a mountain. His skin tingles and he realizes it's because she's intertwining her hand with his and he's certain his face is betraying every thought he is having.

The wind sends down a blaze of pedals spilling toward them and she laughs as it all flows between them and he laughs too because she's pulling him closer to hide with him and because he possibly couldn't have done it better himself.

As the wind gentles, she looks to him and he wonders what to say and, fleetingly, if there will ever be a time her blue eyes will stop sparkling, just before she smiles and pulls away and he watches her delightfully twirl under the storm of snowing pedals. And he thinks, as she stops her smile at him, that he'll never know when to land again, and when she grins and throws a handful of leaves at him and he laughs and chases after her, that he'll probably never know what to say because, because beauty never really needed words.


End file.
